


Contentment in meadows green

by Neonbat



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Regency, Bad Parenting, Ballroom Dancing, Bar fights, Crush at First Sight, English Dean, Frotting, Gay marriage is allowed in this AU, Hand Jobs, John's a plus parenting, M/M, Russian Castiel (Supernatural), Sneaking Around, forced engagement, it works out, sam is a good bro
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-19
Updated: 2020-09-19
Packaged: 2021-03-08 00:47:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 10,004
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26536801
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Neonbat/pseuds/Neonbat
Summary: They met when they were children, brief yet memorable. Dean couldn't say what made him so keen to seek out the man across the ballroom, only that he was glad, for once,  for his parent's incessant social climbing.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 13
Kudos: 147
Collections: SPN Regency Big Bang 2020





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Hey all! This is my entry for the SPN Regency bang. Make sure to check out ZeliRocks kickass art over here on Tumblr as well♥️  
> https://zelirocks.tumblr.com/post/629645599230377984/bang-art-time-this-time-its-for-neonbats

The sun was merciless, a rare glimpse of bright blue skies and powdery clouds within the week-long rains. Bees buzzed from flower to fat flower, meticulously tended by the house’s ample staff. The air smelled of spring and delicate trays of confectionary laid upon imported china.

Not that he was allowed to go towards the laden tables. No, he had to ask permission first.

Dean licked an errant blob of jam from his thumb and knocked crumbs from his shirt, knowing his mother would disapprove if he got messy. He hated these clothes, too stiff and uncomfortable, but Mother insisted on the latest fashions. Too-tight breeches included. 

He spared a glance at the gathering of women in their fine dresses, their voluminous hair done in fanciful styles like ugly peacocks. He snickered quietly, imagining what it would be like to toss sticks into the coiffes and see how many stuck.

“He’s a funny one,” his cousin Gwen sneered with a giggle that immediately spelled trouble. It was the same giggle she used before she did anything bad he’d get the blame for later. 

“What’s he doing?”

“Getting filthy, that’s what.”

The little gathering of children crowded at the center of the garden, snickering. Dean approached, curiosity winning out over his love of sweets. 

He nudged through, ignoring the indignant ‘hey, no pushing!’ from another boy.

Except all the fuss was about something as boring as someone lying in the grass in his good clothes. He couldn’t remember which woman he’d come with, only that the boy hadn’t said one word to anyone before he’d ghosted off outside. Apparently to do this. Who wanted to lay around in the itchy grass all day when there were cherry scones?

“Who’s he?” Dean nudged his cousin, who sneered up at him disdainfully. 

“You never listen, Dean.” Gwen sniffed, tilting her chin up as if she was so prim and proper when not a day before she’d tried to kick the cat for clawing her ankle when she was being a brat. “That’s Lady Novak’s youngest, Castiel.” She leaned in close, “We think he’s a bit...touched.” The other children giggled.

Dean bit the inside of his lip, wondering if that was true. Gwen liked to tell fanciful lies about people, and no matter how much the nanny scolded she never stopped. 

Castiel reached for something and Dean craned to see. Some sort of scuttling bug tracked across Castiel’s hand, vibrant green and black against Castiel’s sun-kissed skin. Dean wasn’t milk-pale himself, he enjoyed going outside in ways his cousins didn’t, but Castiel was a step above, as if he spent every scrap of free time he had out in the grass. 

“Ew, he’s playing with bugs.” Gwen lamented, and a few other children cringed. 

To her right, Bartholomew leaned down to scoop a handful of loose soil into his fist, smirking. ”We can’t have that.” At nine summers to Gwen’s six and Dean’s seven, he should have known better.

“Bug boy, look here!” Bartholomew waited until Castiel leaned up on his elbows to turn and look their way before — 

The handful of mud hit Castiel in the shoulder thanks to Bartholomew’s poor aim before Dean could stop it. The children erupted into a great fit of giggles, pouring out mean-spirited teases as Castiel scrambled to his feet with an air of shock.

Dean looked between Bartholomew and Castiel and lunged. “You great prat!” Bartholomew had no hope, not on Dean who could climb a tree right to the top if he wanted to. He doubted Bartholomew could tie his own trousers. 

“I’ll give you such a basting!” Dean glared down at the sniveling older boy, satisfied as he cowered away from Dean’s tightly balled fist. A little dribble of blood trickled from Bartholomew’s nose, filling Dean with a deep sense of accomplishment. He’d bested a boy two years his senior without breaking a sweat!

“Mother!” Gwen shrieked, and the remaining children scattered, tearing off across the lawn like the back-biting foxes they were. 

Dean inwardly groaned and stood up, mentally kissing his second round of confections goodbye. He turned, catching the too-blue eyes of the mud covered Castiel as he brushed himself off. 

Castiel smiled, a huge, gummy grin that brightened a surprisingly severe face for a child. “Cпасибо.” It wouldn’t be until years later that Dean would realize Castiel had thanked him.


	2. Chapter 2

“Terrible thing I hear, just imagine.” Dean bit back a yawn as he took a sip from his cup, humming a quiet appreciation for the crisp wine. The conversation around him was as droll as usual, but the event made for some excitement. The social scene was atwitter with gossip around the arrival of the Novak family, returned to England after far too long, according to any respectable Englishman. 

“Ghastly business, that Napoleon fellow is certainly making a mess of things over there.” Another old crone agreed as she crammed another stuffed date into her wrinkled gob.

Dean rolled his eyes and turned, nearly dropping his cup in the process as he stumbled into the lumbering bulk of his little brother. The uncertain foal he’d let tag along on his coattails had long grown tall and strong, filling out his fine clothing in ways that made the ladies giggle and the lads scowl.

“Samuel, are you trying to get me scolded?” Dean huffed, cradling his cup preciously to his chest. Poor Sam hadn’t quite yet grown confident with his growth spurt and tended to forget he was roughly the width of the Thames now.

“I think you’ll get scolded well enough, if you keep making such eyes at our guests.” Sam teased in ways only the younger sibling could get away with.

Dean wouldn’t confess to making faces at his younger sibling, but as the eldest, it was his right. “Speaking of guests, have you seen the guests of honor yet?”

Why his parents had decided on this affair Dean would never know. It felt a bit macabre, considering the circumstances of the Novaks family’s relocation. Word was Napoleon was putting the bootheel to Moscow, trying to lean into Russia in ways any good gossip would say he was mad to do. Still, it was serious enough that the entirety of the Novak household had uprooted their home in Russia and fled to England.

And of course, his parents being his parents had practically thrown themselves to the top of the list of well-wishers offering their home as a means of comfort until the Novaks had purchased land here and resettled. Anything to cast fair light on the Winchester household after the unfortunate business of the Campbells on his Mother’s side being so — unsavory. He doubted the Campbell line would recover their ‘good name’ (as if such crass people had one to start with) after their patriarch being sent to hang for murder. 

Well, at least he need no longer associate with the frustrating likes of his cousins anymore.

“All save one, the youngest one has evaded most, it seems.” Sam reached up to try to adjust the choking collar tightly cinched about his neck to no avail. Mother had already swept through and made nooses of their accoutrements. 

“Then you’ve met the daughter? Quite the attractive armful,” Dean side stepped before Sam could sweep a hand towards him, snickering behind his cup as Sam fumbled and nearly smacked a servant bearing a tray full of morsels instead.

Pouting, Sam fixed him with a stare that would put any old gran to shame. ”Hush, she’s a widower! Be kind, and don’t make a mess of this. Mother is terribly pleased to see Lady Novak again after the falling out with — you know.” His nose scrunched, head flicking to right his floppy dark chestnut hair that was a touch too long, if you asked Dean. Neither of them could grow the loose curls that were fashionable at the moment, and they’d given up, content with their lack-luster waves. Dean hadn’t the desire to sit long hours in the morning to have some attendant fuss over his head. 

Dean hummed his agreement and passed off his cup, ”Hold this, my giant hobbledehoy, I have business to attend to.”

Dean spun about, tittering as Sam gave a dramatic huff behind him. ”I loathe when you call me that!” If they weren’t in public, Dean was sure he would have stomped. ”And where are you off to?”

Glancing behind him, Dean surreptitiously fixed his cuffs. ”I am to hunt the remaining Novak. You see, it’s been a number of years and my curiosity has gotten the best of me.”

“You’ve met?”

“Hardly so, in the precocious times of youth, but met all the same.” Dean flashed a smile and strode off through the milling party-goers, giving polite nods and little words as he went. Despite sparing only pleasantries it took ages to get across the ballroom to get a vantage point on the grand staircase. 

Mounted four towards the sky, Dean craned about, casting eyes for the solitary Novak that had eluded even his giant of a sibling.

“Faith! That has to be him,” Dean spied a lone figure sequestered near one of the large windows, a man in manner of dress slightly out of step with the status-quo. Not so much as to be a faux-paus, but enough that it set him apart. A rolled knot instead of a pleat of the collar not to mention the rather interesting deep pinstripe of his breeches. A contrast to the fresh pale yellow of Dean’s own lower half coupled with the rich turquoise of his coat, one that, in Dean’s opinion, set the green in his eyes to distraction.

Sam could accuse him of shining everyone else down all he liked, Dean knew his strong suits.

Stepping from his lofty heights, Dean set off through the throng once more, pausing only to pluck two more glasses of wine from an attendant’s hand.

Castiel didn’t notice his approach, which was well for Dean as it gave him longer to study the man unabashedly. 

The boy Dean had seen covered in mud that day in the grass was long left in time’s wake. Instead, before him stood a man, attractive in stance and manner, if not stiff-backed. His dark hair was in an attractive tousle, though whether that be by design or luck Dean wasn’t sure. He was but a hair shorter than Dean himself, less broad in the shoulders with a waist accented deeply by the cinch of his jacket. 

Though what struck Dean the most was the severity of his eyes. A deep, crisp blue as brisk as spring wind, deep in their contemplation. A look out of place on a man with no more than two summers on Dean’s own twenty-four.

“And you must be Castiel, I’d dared to think perhaps you’d been locked away somewhere upstairs.” Dean slid up to him, deciding not to immediately bring up their shared past. It had been years since, it was unseemly to admit to remembering their raucous days of youth, considering the dressing-down Dean had received that day.

Castiel startled, dozy blue eyes snapping to attention. His chest paused on a sharp inhale, gaze darting between the proffered glass and Dean’s face. “O-oh.” He floundered, accepting the glass with a pinched press of his lips.

Not to be perturbed so easily, Dean tipped his glass to Castiel’s. ”Dean Winchester, eldest son.”

“Ah — yes, Mother mentioned as such. Pardon me, Mr. Winchester, you seem to have caught me daydreaming and I am slow to return to earth.” Castiel held his glass like he expected it to burst apart.

Humming, Dean nursed his glass. ”Not to worry, dear fellow, you need not return as long as you are fine stepping among the clouds upon my arm?” Dean offered a roguish smile, holding his arm slightly aloft. 

Castiel’s brows furrowed, staring at his arm with even more perplexion than the glass of wine. “Do you mean to dance with me, Mr Winchester?”

“I do, if you shall agree.” Dean waited, pausing only to drain the rest of his glass and deposit it on the window sill. 

“Oh,” Castiel’s breath left him in a quiet rush, and he finally took a tentative sip of the wine and apparently found it palatable, considering he too drank deep not a moment later. ”Yes, I find that agreeable. I have been rude, have I not?”

Dean reached to gently grasp Castiel by the elbow and guide him towards the other milling bodies. ”It isn’t rude to prefer dreaming over trading pleasantries, though I would rather such pleasantries to be more brief and more exciting.” He flashed another smile and turned, gently placing his hand against Castiel’s to raise them between their bodies.

They stepped to and fro, turning around each other, stepping lightly to the music, though their eyes scarcely left one another’s. 

“You don’t find parties exciting?” Castiel inquired as they met in closer quarters to clasp both their hands together and turn in a tight circle.

“Not so much this sort,” Dean admitted, breaking apart to meet the other throng of dancers in a round.

They met back, bowing, and within moments were back to touching hands and stepping with the other dancers. Never enough lingering contact for Dean to properly introduce himself to the youngest Novak.

All too soon the song ended and another began, forcing them to break away as the dancers lined up. Two by two the dancers met and stepped down the line, all eyes on them. It took much too long before he met Castiel in the center and they passed down the row, Castiel lighter on his feet than Dean ever expected. 

“You’re a keen dancer, for a dreamer,” Dean remarked, leaning in as they neared the end of the row.

A soft dusting of rouge darkened Castiel’s cheeks, ”You flatter me, I have no such talents, but you have my thanks all the same. I am not a talent such as yourself.” His breath stuttered, a quiet look of shock blooming in his bright eyes. “Forgive me, I have never had any fortitude against my cups and I’ve had three already.”

Dean laughed, loud enough that he earned the ire of a few party-goers around them. ”No forgiveness necessary, thank you.” He glanced around them, hesitating only momentarily before deciding he had never been one to dally. 

“Step away with me? The night air might clear your cups from your cheeks and I would enjoy a moment to smoke.” Dean offered, drawing them away from the dancers.

Castiel’s eyes lingered a few heartbeats before they flicked off, his right hand still held by Dean in a dancer’s clasp while the left moved restlessly against his coat’s buttons. ”Yes, that would be...agreeable.”

It was only a moment to procure smoking pipes and step outside, the immediate shift from stuffy air choked with perfumes to the clean, crisp scent of the night pleasurable beyond comparison.

“You don’t take snuff?” Castiel’s gentle inquiry grounded him. 

Dean’s nose faintly curled, ”Never had a taste for it. Why waste the taste of import on your nose instead of the tongue?” His lips curled into a mischievous smile as he flipped open the little box of smokey, rich tobacco.

“The Americas are good for something, eh what?” Dean laughed, passing the box off to his companion for the night.

Castiel gently hummed, ”Among other things.” He turned the polished alabaster pipe at his fingertips before filling it, packing it with a deft touch. 

“Oh? An interest in the colonies?” Dean crossed to one of the torches casting a warm glow around the expansive estate and lit a slender slick. Being a gentleman, he leaned to light Castiel’s pipe before his own.

“Not in so many words, an idle curiosity. I have more curiosities than proper I’m told.” Castiel huffed a small chuckle that Dean didn’t like the implications of but was too distracted by the gentle curl of Castiel’s pale-pink lips against the pipe to act on. 

“Pish. How would anyone achieve anything if not for curiosity?” Dean flipped his hand, tempted to tug at his choking collar but thinking better of it. Just because Castiel’s company was favorable didn’t mean he wanted to seem uncouth. His father would have his head. 

Castiel sighed a soft plume of rich-scented smoke, ”Just so.”

A companionable silence stretched, and Dean may or may not have cast his eyes to Castiel’s fine visage more than once. How could he not? The Russian-born man was an attractive sort. Not at all delicate in form as his elder sister, but a strength in his body that said Castiel wasn’t using his station to laze. 

Leisure was not a pastime Dean had ever been able to stomach, too prone to getting up and into mischief. Even Samuel, in his infinite desire to be a respectable Winchester, struggled with the same. 

“It will be a pleasure to have you and yours about. Dreadful business the nature of such relocation, but there is a thing to be said about silver linings.” Dean smiled, turning towards Castiel as he tipped out the ashes of his pipe onto the ground. 

“Ah, Milton?” Castiel mirrored him, the barely-there smile returning.

A quiet chortle filled Dean as he ducked his head, ”Indeed. He has a way with words, does he not?”

“Doubtlessly, though I profess it has been some time since I indulged. Things have been...unsettled, as of late.” Dean could sympathize though he had not lived through such trying events as some French bastard trying to sweep through his home country. Men like him and his little brother weren’t called upon to step into a march, and for that he was grateful. 

...Even if in his heart of hearts he quietly wondered what it would be like. He was a son of England, was he not? Why were men like him not rallied? The matter was too complex for someone like him to ponder, though he was sure his little brother had plenty to say on the matter. 

“Indeed, I say you would be,” Dean offered his arm as he turned towards the expansive windowed doors. ”Please, spend time in our library during your stay; my brother and I have amassed a collection that I think will favor you greatly. What better time for such amusements? I’ve lost many hours with book in hand in the parlor. Samuel can’t make it thus far, instead sequestering himself wherever his bulk will settle comfortably in the library.” He laughed fondly, remembering the time when he’d spotted his young brother squished into an alcove with the two hounds.

“I will do so, thank you, Mr — “

“Please, Dean is more than enough.”

Castiel’s smile broadened a little further.”Thank you, Dean.”

They returned to the party, further conversation lost to the din of their surroundings. 


	3. Chapter 3

Dean tried not to have preconceived notions towards their house guests, truly, but a full week into the cohabitation and he’d seen but a few scarce glimpses of the youngest Novak. Castiel even had a penchant to take his meals in his room, which he’d caught his parents grumbling about on a number of occasions.

“La. That youngest, Castiel, a reserved one isn’t he? I remember him as such as a boy as well.” Mary, Dean’s mother, murmured to her husband John one day while taking in the morning air over coffee by the parlor windows. Dean pretended not to overhear.

“Quite so, a peculiar sort.” John rumbled his agreement and Dean grit his teeth. 

Reserved. Peculiar. Prettied words for calling a man rude. And while Dean agreed it was a bit unorthodox, he hoped Castiel had a proper explanation for his snubs to the Winchester household. 

He wasn’t quite sure why he was so invested, if pressed. But, something told him that Castiel wasn’t one to be taken so simply. Perhaps it was wishful thinking, or sentimentality to the brief shared past, but Dean was intent on finding out. 

By chance or luck, he found Castiel on a balmy day where rare sun shone bright in the sky and the grass was still faintly damp from yesterday’s gentle rain. 

It was a slice of the past, walking towards the ancient wych elm that crowned the sprawling grounds in its bountiful shade. Under it, Castiel lay, ankle resting on a bent knee with his back on the grass, surely getting soaked through from nape to calf from lingering dew. A book hovered over his face kept poised by a raised arm, an uncomfortable position if one asked Dean, but Castiel looked content. Far more content and relaxed than Dean had seen him yet. 

“Have you no fear of seeding? Laying in the dew-riddled lawn?” Dean inquired as he stepped under the shade, grateful for the reprieve. 

Castiel lowered the book to his chest, face pinching. ”Why take in the outdoors if one fears all that nature provides?” He challenged, rolling into a seated position, ”Good morning, Dean.”

“Good morning, your company at breakfast was missed. Not one to dine among an audience?” Dean tried for casual but he was not one to mince words, no matter how many disapproving glares his mother and brother subjected him to. 

Blanching, Castiel’s gaze lowered to his boots where an errant blade of green clung to the polished brown. ”Such things are an upset to my constitution, I fear I have never been able to stomach combining conversation and appetite.” 

Briefly, Dean considered lowering himself down on the grass but thought better of it. He hadn’t spent so long getting dressed to have to go inside and do it all again for a conversation. “I see, no matter then, though I have hoped to find words with you sooner than now.”

“Apologies for that as well, I am unused to the English standard. Or rather, we were so secluded near Moscow that I was not privy to the rigors of polite society, not since childhood.” Castiel’s crystalline blue eyes found him again, and Dean once again reconsidered sitting. 

Expression softening, Dean nodded. ”Then, perhaps if it is not unkind of me to interrupt your reading after I implored you to such pastimes, would you care to walk with me?”

Castiel cast a lingering glance to his book, hummed, and tucked it into his jacket. ”I would be glad to.”

Castiel accepted his proffered hand, momentarily putting them in each other’s breath. Castiel faltered, biting his lower lip with a murmured apology for stepping too close. As if Dean could find it in him to take offense. 

They walked side by side, strolling the grounds and the lane around the estate with no set destination in mind.”I think I will take a ride after luncheon, if you’re interested.” It was a fair day and Dean hadn’t spent enough time astride his beloved black mare as he would have liked over the past weeks. 

“I profess, I am not a talented rider, but if you are still inclined I would join you.” Castiel’s pleasant timber flowed well in the bright morning, and Dean could scarcely keep his attention on where his feet tread, rather than Castiel’s countenance. 

“Then it’s settled,” Dean grinned, relieved when Castiel mirrored his good nature. Castiel’s was not a face that was prone to emotional display, but Dean felt lucky to see the smile there then.

Castiel was not the most adept conversationalist either, prone to long lapses or stilted replies, but in that he was refreshing. Dean didn’t feel the need to overly flowery words or go out of his way to stress niceties. It was freeing in ways he hadn’t known he craved. 

As they slowly meandered back towards the house for the midday meal, Dean found he could harbor his curiosity no longer. ”Do you recall that we met some years ago? When we were children?”

To his surprise, Castiel’s smile brightened to gleaming. A gummy, dazzling thing that had the flutter of wings filling Dean’s chest. “Yes, I had thought you had forgotten and thought it best not to mention. Considering,” He laughed quietly.

“Considering.” Dean echoed with a laugh of his own, ”I promise, I’ve grown more civilized since the days of tumultuous youth.” 

The assurance seemed to dim some of the mirth in Castiel’s eyes, smile waning. ”Is that so?” If Dean was not mistaken, he would wager Castiel sounded disappointed. 


	4. Chapter 4

“I can’t help but think you’re capitalizing on the empty house.” Castiel rumbled disapprovingly at him from his seat in the parlor. He’d been making an effort to be more present in the home, though Dean had a sneaking suspicion Castiel’s recent socializing was only facilitated by Sam visiting a friend in Kent, Anna in the comfort of women her age and status in Lincolnshire, and their parents off to the sea of Norfolk. When asked, Castiel had excused himself and remained and Dean wasn’t going to waste an opportunity to get to know the man in a quieter setting. 

Dean shrugged without a shred of guilt, rounding the stuffed couch to descend on its end, angling his body towards Castiel where he, of course, read. 

“I confess, it’s so, but shame won’t deter me. You must be bored of this house, day in, day out, as grand as it may be. Come with me, we’ll have a night. If you don’t enjoy it your books are here waiting.” He reached out, plucking the book from Castiel’s hand and darting away before Castiel had a chance to recover it.

Huffing, Castiel grabbed after his fleeting evening spent with written word and candlelight to no avail. ”You’re a menace, Dean Winchester, a scoundrel to the core.” Dean couldn’t help but notice the smile threatening on Castiel’s lips.

“Just so, as it stands. And this scoundrel insists. Go dress, something — understated.” Dean’s brows bobbed wickedly as he backed away, ignoring Castiel’s dubious countenance. “Pedigrees are to be left on the threshold once we leave.”

“That sounds indubitably suspect,” Castiel, however, acquiesced and with another withering look, ascended the stair towards his room.

An hour halved found Dean dressed in quieter attire of browns, something he would have worn traveling in the countryside rather than to town, but necessary for the destination he had in mind. 

“What horrors have you thought to inflict upon me?” Dean turned towards Castiel’s voice, a bloom of warmth taking root in his stomach. The faint air of discomfort was gone around Castiel’s normally pinched expression now that he was dressed down with a ribbon tied loosely around a gaped color, a tantalizing strip of his neck stark against the white of the cloth. Paired with dark cream trousers and a brown vest, there was nothing fashionable about the attire but it suited Castiel more than Dean could say. A visage more apt to be splayed in the grass or under the warm summer sun. 

Dean blinked, rousing himself from his momentary stupor. ”That, my dear fellow, would be telling. Our coach is here, come.” Dean offered his arm with a roguish titter, only to quiet when Castiel accepted, a brow quirked as if to dare Dean to say otherwise.

Castiel’s boldness lasted until they were deposited at the corner of a nondescript street in the heart of London.”Tell me you don’t intend — “

“ — Intend? I hasten!” Dean laughed, urging Castiel down the street towards the bawdy theater proudly displaying posters for their ‘famous’ dancers, their flaring skirts, and steps. Certainly no place for established gentlemen like themselves, but Dean would admit to frequenting such places when it suited him. Where the beer was cheap and plentiful and the company loud without reserve. A place so inviting even Sam had been known to haunt his steps when they led him here. 

And despite Castiel’s protests he made no active effort to pull away, letting himself be dragged along until a burst of noise and cheers greeted them. 

The ‘theatre’ was a modest establishment in size, but grand in personality. It wasn’t so vulgar as many of their status made such places seem. The women performed with great flair, legs kicking up high and skirts twirling faster than a steam wheel. They were raucous shows, of that there was no doubt, but nothing so nefarious as what most thought.

As they sat with drinks in hand, Dean glanced in his periphery, chuckling to himself as Castiel gasped quietly as two girls swept out in front in a flurry of fabric, their pale faces painted bright with rouge and raspberry smiles. 

Towards the end of the show a rowdy trine stumble in, jackets damp from an apparent evening misting. Almost immediately one whistled at a lead dancer so loudly the pianist’s hands stumbled upon the keys. Try as the performers might to resume, the trio grew louder and louder, even going so far as to approach the stage.

“Well into their cups already,” Castiel hissed in distaste.

Dean set his cup aside and stood, “You there, quiet down as these good people have paid for their night’s entertainment are you are certainly not among it.” He gestured vaguely to the small crowd of nearly a dozen patrons. 

One of them turned on unsure feet, sneering. ”Piss off!”

Before Dean had a chance to retaliate, another snatched a tankard from a patron on the front row and lobbed it. The majority of the held beer spilled onto the unfortunate patrons in front of Dean, but the tankard glanced off his shoulder and dampened his shirt.

He had every intention of showing Castiel a bright, cheery evening, but as the man had to remember, he had little temper for suffering fools. 

Dean took a step down the aisle, glimpsing Castiel rising from his chair and knocking back the last few gulps of his cup. A moment later, Castiel’s cup cracked against one of the laughing trio’s heads loud enough to be heard over the half-hearted music. 

The theater erupted into a flurry of movement as some patrons scattered, others jeered, and Dean and Castiel met the remaining cads with fists. Dean took a punch, too worried that the Novak was more of a man of quiet contemplation than one of violence. The brief glance brought him pain, but allowed him to see Castiel duck away from a fist aimed at his face and punch out against his assailant’s gut.

Dean laughed, turning back towards his own attacker and laying him out with three solid hits.

He didn’t let them stick around, not when the threat of being discovered and gossiped about from here to Cornwall loomed. Their mothers would have their heads.

Their shoes sprayed puddles as they ran, one fist each clutched against the other’s jacket. It took an age to return to the Winchester home but they were in no state to hail a coach, not that they minded. Thunder rumbled above, rain soaking them through, but they laughed, sharing conspiratory smiles as they pushed past the gates of the estate. 

“More...civilized, hm?” Castiel panted as Dean shut the downs behind them, leaning heavily against the solid oak. 

Dean snickered, tonguing the cut on the inside of his cheek, ”I lied, but you! Faith, that was magnificent. Where did you learn to fight?”

The askew locks of Castiel’s wet hair fell in front of his face as he ducked his head, ”You know of my line, I have a legion more siblings than just Anna, the lion’s share of brothers. Two more prone to devilishness than you. I might prefer the company of books, but I have a varied education.”

It was the glimmer of lapis through lashes that robbed the air from Dean’s lungs. He had known Castiel to be beautiful since seeing him standing alone at the party, eyes cast longingly outside. He’d known Castiel to be wild when they were children, seeing the older boy stretched on the grass with nary a care. And now he knew Castiel to be desirable, with cheeks flushed from excursion and wet clothing clinging.

“I find myself curious to what more said education contains,” Dean panted, getting his breath back in him. Their eyes never parted, transfixed in the dim light. Only the sound of their shared breaths filled the space, the help having long retired with all the lords and ladies away.

Lightning lit the room through the windows, and Castiel closed the distance in two short steps. Dean surged from the door, hands pushing through Castiel’s wet hair as their lips collided.

For all of Castiel’s reservation, there is little within his touch or kiss. Dean found his back against the door once more, bracketed in Castiel’s arms. Their lips danced in a lewd slide, hot where their skin was cool.

To his embarrassment, a soft groan bubbled in his throat, but Castiel didn’t draw away and question his virtue like a proper man was bid to do. By now, they knew neither was in the realm of proper, despite their trappings. His mother had tried to quell the rambunctiousness out of him from the womb, and Dean had a feeling Castiel was the same. Peculiar children that didn’t learn any of the right lessons. 

Castiel swallowed the filth and replied with one of his own, tongue licking against his lips, entreating him for entry. Dean obliged, meeting the heat of Castiel’s mouth without reserve. 

Too soon did his lungs beg for air, and their lips parted just enough to pant between them. ”I think it wise to move...from here...and yet — “ Castiel’s deep voice husked, a hand drifting from the door to skim down Dean’s side. ”Tell me this is untoward. Have some sense of decorum because I can’t find any within myself.”

Dean sighed into the touch, his own hands sliding down to grasp Castiel’s shoulders. ”Then you must go wanting, because I have none of my own. Touch me.” Emboldened by Castiel’s admission, Dean slid a hand past Castiel’s unbuttoned collar to grasp the back of his damp neck. 

The growl of desire that met him was worth the fist he’d taken to the jaw and more. They kissed once more, more desperate than the last. An ungainly struggle to touch anything and everything all at once without ever parting their kiss. 

Dean dove for Castiel’s tucked shirt and Castiel tensed. “I’m-” The apology died when Castiel reached down to Dean’s own hem and farther still. Castiel’s broad hand pressed against the swell of him, teasing, taunting him with the layers of cloth between them.

Frenzied to the point of desperation, Dean ignored the button that popped from Castiel’s trousers in his hurry to undress him. He bit at Castiel’s lips, silencing the laughter breathed against him.

Finally, Castiel took pity on him and they worked together to free Dean of his bothersome buttons and the tucked shield of his shirt. 

The first touch of bare skin to bare skin was everything. Dean shuddered, not daring to part their lips for fear their traitorous noises would give them away. Word passed fast among those hired to these great houses.

It wasn’t dignified, rutting together as they were, a tangle of licentious desire. Be it pressed against each other’s frocks or fumbled grip, they shook apart, swallowing the melody of each other’s pleasure. 

As they shivered in the aftermath, they shared a childish giggle. Grown men as they were, doing such a thing not even a step from the door.

A door creaked open down towards the cook’s room, and they hurried to right themselves, stifling further laughter poorly. Their feet layered the distant thunder, fleeing to their rooms above, grasping the fronts of their ill-buttoned trousers and light in their eyes.


	5. Chapter 5

Dean yawned, staring off into gardens from his seat at his mother’s table. He didn’t mean to be rude, but the night had been long for reasons best left to secrecy. Sneaking to the attic for privacy had been thrilling. Like being boys again. Laid out on thick blankets with candlelight flickering against their bare skin. 

Castiel’s strong, lean body in the orange glow, bathed in fire and darkness, had been breathtaking. 

“Dear?” his mother prompted, looking peevishly over her teacup. It had been an age since he’d last sat with just her for a midday bite, and he was starting to remember why.

“Yes, Mother?” Dean couldn’t tell you what his dear mother was speaking of, not when his attention was focussed on watching Castiel lounging in a tree with a book in hand.

Mary pursed her lips, following Dean’s line of sight outside. ”You seem to have taken on well to the youngest Novak,” she commented while picking up a dainty fairy cake.

Dean knew better than to hide his displeasure towards conversation in his cup, but he did so anyway despite his mother’s chagrin. He sipped at his coffee, enjoying the bracing flavor to cut the gentle sweetness of the cakes. ”I would think that would please you; the Novaks are our friends, are they not? We’ve shared a home for some weeks now.”

Again, Mary hummed, reaching for her kerchief to clear away an imagined crumb against her lips. ”Yes, though I do lament the time for their departure is growing close. Mr. Novak has located a suitable home to purchase and they ready it as we speak. It won’t be long until it is finished.” Dean’s heart ached for his poor mother, whom he knew had enjoyed having another woman of status to share idle time with. Their stations were similar enough that they could relax in some measure.

The quiet sense of dread churning in his stomach turned the cake to lead, and his coffee acidic. Castiel would be leaving soon, Dean knew this, and even if they weren’t parted by city or county, Dean would lament the distance.

Still, he reflected his mother’s noncommittal note and finished his coffee, keen on going outside and coaxing Castiel from his lofty perch. Dean fancied a walk, one that would allow them to steal quiet kisses among the flowers and trees.

He’d hoped for the subject to drop. However, with his mother this was just the first attempt, probing into the bushes so his Father could move in for the kill.

John cornered him after supper days later, steering him into the library with a pipe in hand. For a moment, Dean almost let his guard down and believed this was just a social call. A time for the eldest son to sit and smoke with his father.

Naivety never suited him.

“You need to stop all this nonsense with the Novak boy. You’re too old for such dalliances.” John didn’t hedge about, even as he packed his pipe with a pinch from his tin.

Dean stood in front of the fireplace, momentarily stunned.”I...dalliance, father?”

John snorted, lighting his pipe.”Come now, you know that Novak boy is much too…” John rolled the hand with his pipe, ”Strange. He’s going nowhere, well, perhaps to the countryside.” He smirked, shaking his head. ”Besides, Charles and I have been conspiring as of late. Anna is much too young to be a diminishing widow, and you have a head for business at my side. It’s a good match, not the Novak boy.” John kept talking, but Dean could only hear the crackle of fire to his right

Marry Anna? Dean had spoken nary a word past greetings to her even at the breakfast table. She was a beautiful woman, that was for certain, yet nothing drew him to her. He knew it was silly of him to think of such things, but he’d hoped to have a partner that would make his chest swell with affection and who’s time he craved.

“Father, I don’t want to marry Anna. A lovely woman, no doubt, but — “

John’s face slid into an expression that used to turn Dean’s blood to ice when he was a boy, and still, it made his pulse quicken.”This isn’t about want, Dean. You’re the eldest, you’re supposed to have a mind for this. Be sensible, boy. Do you really want the bother and the risks that come with having mistresses if you paired off with Castiel?” Dean’s jaw tightened. 

He knew that marrying a man wouldn’t earn him the acclaim that fathering a child with a woman would. One of them, or both, would have to accept a woman of some standing into their household to sire an heir, clothe her, care for her, and there were always risks. There were whispers of such pairings ending in disaster, with one of the men running off with the woman, or the household falling into chaos when the child’s mother demanded more, and more of her benefactors.

And yet, it didn’t deter him.

“I see you’ve decided for me, then.” Dean was aghast at the tone that left him. Rarely had he taken attitude with his father. He barely recognized himself, simmering with anger, and voice laced with venom.

John paused puffing on his pipe, and Dean braced himself. ”Watch it, boy. You aren’t too old to be punished.” The growl slithered down Dean’s spine, reminding him of bruises years past. 

“Then, I will excuse myself, at your bidding,” he replied tightly, not trusting himself to bite his tongue for much longer. 

He stood under scrutiny for what felt like ages, watching John breath deep lungfuls of rich, imported tobacco. “Glad you’ve seen reason. Off with you then.” John turned his back on him, and Dean knew there would be no swaying him.

There was only one person to go to now. The only person that could quell the tar rapidly filling his soul.

* * *

Dean skimmed his lips against Castiel’s bare chest, the scent of fresh hay and oat-feed blending with the cool night air. Inside the large barn’s loft it was warm, a quiet haven of blankets and a flickering lantern. Perhaps they were being too cautious, but after the discussion, Dean couldn’t bear the thought of discovery with ill intent. 

“I...don’t dislike your sister, Castiel, but I have no desire for this union.” Dean confessed the plans of his parents against Castiel’s sweat-slick skin, the sensation of their coupling still burning pleasantly between Dean’s cheeks.

“I know, Dean. My parents seem keen on such a union as well. Anna will do as they say, but she will have no heart in it...and nor will I.” Castiel sighed, reaching down to card his fingers through Dean’s hair. ”Is it selfish of me? Of us?”

Leaning up, Dean gazed down at his lover, taking in his flushed cheeks and kiss-bitten lips. ”If it is, then I feel it justified.” He rose, throwing a leg over Castiel’s waist to boldly sit astride his lover’s body.

He was rewarded with a gentle hitch of Castiel’s breath and strong hands upon his waist, thumbs kneading into the freckled flesh.”You have me in a thrall, Dean Winchester. I thought myself content before I met you, how wrong I was.”

Reaching down, Dean splayed his fingers across Castiel’s chest. ”You will think I’m a fool, but I sought you out that night at the party. Remembering our brief introduction as a child, I was so curious about the youngest Novak. You did not disappoint. It’s you that has me bewitched. I have never been content, not once, until now.” 

“Then let us ignore the whims of our parents, pray them to be a passing fancy,” Castiel urged, rolling his hips so Dean could feel the rekindling of his arousal.

In the stolen moments of darkness it was easy to let such concerns slip away. Lost in the tide of passions, of kisses, sighs, and the pleasures of the flesh. Easy to forget that their parents weren’t people of idle speculation, and the name’s stations didn’t allow for fleeting plans. That all dreams come to an end when woken.


	6. Chapter 6

Dean knew that the time to part would rapidly arrive, yet he found himself on the eve before the Novaks’ imminent departure feeling shaken. They were all to take dinner together, a small, but grand affair with all in the families attending. Even Castiel.

“I will send word when we are settled, what the state of affairs shall be. I promise that,” Castiel whispered against his lips. They were backed in a corner near Dean’s bedroom, stealing chaste kisses and murmured words. “My parents have never watched me too closely, and for once, I shall use that to my advantage.”

They would still meet, find time among the pressures of their families, but it would not be the same as having Castiel within arm’s reach. Ever since the Novakss arrival, Dean had scarcely felt the need to galavant around the city like a restless dog looking for something to stick its nose into. His mischief was reserved for Castiel now, one who would smile most attractively at his humor, so brightly it formed creases at the corners of his eyes. 

The dinner bell rang and the assorted household breezed into the dining room, the picture of civil contentment, all save for two. Castiel sat across from Dean, both wearing the brittle twins of a smile. 

Dean couldn’t have told you what he ate, for it all tasted null on his tongue. He was too preoccupied with watching Castiel pick at his plate already laden too lightly for Dean’s peace of mind. He knew Castiel didn’t enjoy taking meals amidst conversation and the clanking of dishes, but this felt beyond his peevish nature at communal eating.

At the head of the table, John roused them with a tapping of his glass. ”Listen intently, for we have wondrous news. It is no secret that the Winchesters and the Novaks have found favor together,” Their parents inclined their heads, bidding John to continue. ”While it grieved our hearts to learn young Anna was widowed so early, it has provided a window to unite these bonds. Charles and I have decided,” John caught the look Mary was giving him and stifled a sigh, ”As well as these fine women,” he nodded to Naomi, Castiel’s mother, and Mary, before continuing. ”That a marriage between our Dean and their Anna would be favourable.” Their parents hummed and chattered in agreement, shooting perfectly bland smiles in his and Anna’s directions.

Anna’s smile chilled Dean, for it wasn’t one he was used to on a beautiful woman. The smile of someone that had long given into the tide of life, resigned to be swept along in its current. She wouldn’t voice her protest as he would and he had no wish to insult her honor by making her out to be unsuitable. 

His eyes flicked towards Castiel in time to see him give a barely there shake of his head. It would be useless to protest now in such a matter. They would have to regroup and form up some kind of plan of action,. someway to change their parent’s minds. 

As it was, they raised their glasses with strained smiles and toasted to the auspicious night.

* * *

The day was as dreary as Dean’s mood as he hurried to the nondescript shop at the corner of market square, wrapped in the same dull brown coat he’d worn that night where fists had flown and he’d lost himself in Castiel’s touch. It was fitting that this would be what he wore to such a clandestine meeting.

Seeing Castiel after a fortnight of scarce communication unfurled a tension within him he wasn’t aware he carried. He was sitting there, near the window, head turned to the streets watching droplets of rain trickle down the window panes. Even in a muted tan, Castiel looked breathtaking sitting there, long fingers idly curled around a forgotten cup.

“Castiel,” Dean gently roused as he sat across from him, reaching out to briefly touch his hand. He wouldn’t risk much more than this, but he would wither without the brief contact, as melodramatic as it sounded. 

Having to endure the fussing of his mother about the wedding-to-be was more than he could take and retain his good sense. It was all moving too fast, and Dean refused to be a part of it until he’d spoken to Castiel outside of pen and parchment. 

Castiel turned to him, a smile breaking the gloom upon his lotus-pink lips. “Dean, you came,” he said as if there had been any other outcome possible.

Briefly, their hands held tight, enjoying a bracing squeeze before reluctantly parting. It wasn’t long before Dean was enjoying a cup of coffee to warm his bones, and they picked lack-lusterly at a plate of delectables.

“Are your mother and father in such a display as mine are?” Castiel inquired with a faintly bitter edge Dean understood all too well. 

Huffing a mirthless laugh, Dean set his cup down.”My mother is in a state. She’s been waiting for one of us to marry for years.” He scowled, abandoning his attempt to eat entirely. His appetite had fled him in these weeks of disquiet. 

He expected Castiel to reply, at least fume as he was right to do, but instead Castiel sat quietly, finishing his cup and pinching off a piece of scone. A look that said he was biting back words.

“What is it?” Dean inquired, leaning forward so they might not be overheard so easily. 

“It is a...troubling matter… It plagues me, but I fear I must ask or else I will be forced to resign myself to this unpleasant outcome.” Castiel fussed, unable to meet his eyes. “Dean I — I asked you here to hear a plea. A plea of madness no less, for I know it to be. I have no right to ask...but I, I will.” He sighed, fixing Dean with a stare with such intensity it momentarily stunned him to gasping.

“Dean, come away with me. You are under no obligation to marry my sister, and I...I wish to be selfish. I wish you for myself and to give myself to you. It would be difficult, if not a shameful thing to do, but I wish it nonetheless. We will go abroad, they will see in time how unreasonable they are, until then…” Castiel trailed, forced into an uneasy breath as the words had left him in a panicked rush.

If Dean had thought himself stunned before, he was paralyzed now. He stared, lips parted though the words stayed within his throat.

Come away with him? Castiel bid him to abandon everything he knew. Defy his parents, leave his brother, and the comforts of London. He’d been abroad, as every cultured well-to-do had, but the context… They would have to find means of funding, securing lodging. 

More than that, they would be disgraced.

Talk would permeate through proper society and they would be vilified. The sons of well-established households running off together to defy a marriage? It would even cast their families in ill light. 

Could he do such a thing? As rebellious as he’d been known to be, he had always ultimately fallen in line. Done what his parents, especially his father, had told him to do like the responsible eldest he was. 

Across from him, Castiel’s face fell, taking the silence as answer enough. “I see, forgive me, Dean. That was unkind of me. Selfish, as I’ve said, I can’t...I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked.” Dean watched the light die in Castiel’s eyes. The bright, sky-blue of Castiel’s nature crushed under the tide of expectations. 

And he was to blame. His hesitation, his pride. It was unacceptable, even more than the repercussions of their selfishness. 

“Give me a moment,” Dean urged, reaching out across the table to grasp Castiel’s hand before he could withdraw. ”Such a decision...I couldn’t make in a span of a few seconds. I am not so clever as you.” He smiled hesitantly, urging Castiel to give him a few moments more.

“You know that is not true,” Castiel offered a gentle chastisement, taking his hand again, uncaring if they attracted stray glances. “I will wait. I will wait until you decide or age take me.” The casual way Castiel was able to say such things always kept Dean off kilter. Able to bare himself without fear because he trusted Dean so implicitly with his heart.

Despite himself, Dean chuckled. ”I won’t make you wait until you’re old and grey, I won’t even make you wait some minutes more. I will go.” It would be the end of one life and the beginning of a new one, one fraught with uncertainty and hardships, but he would readily face it to take his life in his own hands. To have a life at Castiel’s side.

The radiance that returned to Castiel’s eyes would make it all worth it in the end, for he would do anything to keep that light alive. 

* * *

Dean waited until his parents were out and the house was still to pack what he dared. He supposed it fortuitous that he wasn’t married to the notion of a constant change of wardrobe or luxury items that other men his age couldn’t seem to part home without. He took a few of his favored jackets, nothing too ostentatious, leaving a section of his luggage for expensive items he could easily sell. He’d never had to get by without his family’s coin, but he did have his own that would help him for some time. Castiel as well. 

They weren’t so foolish as to go into the wilds with nothing, it would be too easy a way to end in a debtor’s prison. They would already bring shame enough to their families, and Dean wouldn’t do such a thing to his brother. His parents he’d lost warmth to over the years with their continued ambitions casting away their care and consideration for their children, but Samuel would always be one of Dean’s greatest cares. 

There was a law of things, that once one started thinking about their younger sibling they were surely to appear, and Samuel was no exception to the rule. 

Dean had clasped his first bit of luggage when he heard his door inch open, and Samuel’s quiet, ”Dean?” moments later, an inquisitive utterance he’d heard time and time again since Samuel first learned to speak.

Sighing, Dean turned, doing nothing to hide the luggage. He would have gone to Samuel before departing, he wasn’t so cruel, but being caught like this wasn’t as he’d planned. ”Come, quickly, and lock the door,” he bid with a wane smile. 

Samuel’s face fell but he did as told, a rarity for a boy that had been so capricious in his honeyed days. 

“You’re leaving then? You and Castiel?” Samuel came to sit on the foot of the bed, one long leg tucked up on the bedsheets. His face had always been too expressive, big eyes that played on one’s heartstrings. A puppy of a man, through and through. He should be impervious to it at his age, yet it softened his initial irritation at Samuel, once again, being too clever for his own good. 

“You think you’re quite clever,” Dean smirked, reaching out to gently nudge Samuel’s shoulder, earning a tiny smile for his efforts.

“One of us has to be,” Samuel challenged.

“Chucklehead.”

“Cad.”

Samuel’s smile waned, and he looked around at the organized chaos of the room where Dean had torn through to decide necessities. “You will write, won’t you? Once the two of you have settled? That I might visit and know my brother in law who has besotted you so?” Even amidst the gentle tease, Dean could hear the fear there. 

A bog bubbled in his stomach, and Dean moved to sit in front of Samuel, reaching out to pat his hand against Samuel’s cheek. ”I will write, that you might visit and force our parents to stumble through excuses to your whereabouts. Visiting your disobedient exile of a brother? They’ll swoon.” They shared a soft laugh, eyes lingering. 

“I will miss you. I...I've already made designs on my own escape. I am keen to take abroad, distance myself from all of this.” Samuel sighed, one Dean knew well. They loved their parents, as any sons would, but there was an ambition and drive in the two that had rarely spared their children. 

“And you will be better for it. Go abroad, live.” Dean reached out, tugging Samuel’s too-large body against his own in a tight embrace. ”I will miss you as well, more than you know. 

Samuel’s arms enveloped him with a surprising strength, “More than I know? My first word wasn’t for milk or mother, but the attentions of my brother that would terrorize my crib so.”

Tittering once more, they drew apart, sharing bracing slaps against their shoulders as if to ward off the tender display just shared.

Packing was a swift chore with Samuel’s aid, and the time to depart arrived too soon for either of them. It was a matter of dodging the household staff to get to a carriage, and prying his arms away from his brother’s shoulders to finally depart. 

Raising a hand out the carriage window, Dean watched as Samuel’s returning wave disappeared into the distance. 


	7. Epilogue

The bite of the salted air was bracing as Dean stepped out onto the deck after breakfast. Gulls squawked overhead, signaling their approach to land and all the adventure that would come with it.

A few minutes later a tender hand settled at the base of his spine, holding him gently. Castiel leaned against his shoulder, briefly tilting his head into his jacket.

Dean huffed a fond breath, reaching to gently cup Castiel’s cheek. There were few on deck at the moment, most still preoccupied with the morning meal. 

“Were you able to eat?” He rubbed his thumb against Castiel’s stubbled jaw. 

Castiel rumbled a petulant ‘no’ and turned his head further into the fabric of his jacket. Dean couldn’t suppress the laughter that bubbled at his lover’s sullen mood. ”We’ll make landfall soon. Have heart.”

“I would rather have coffee and toast that doesn’t make a reappearance overboard.” Castiel grumbled, having been sick with the rise and fall of the tide since their departure. It had tapered in the past two days, but his pallor was still peaked and appetite lacking. 

Turning, Dean gathered Castiel’s face between his hands, looking at the grouchy countenance with nothing but fondness. ”When we arrive we will settle quickly, and with it your constitution,” he soothed until the furrow between Castiel’s brows eased. 

“A miserable trip is not how I envisioned us starting our lives together,” Castiel sighed, turning to grasp the railing of the ship and cast his face against the wind. 

“I highly doubt things that are worth it can be obtained easily,” Dean replied with a lofty optimism that he wasn’t normally prone to. This far from home, in new seas, approaching a new land, and his new husband-to-be by his side, he was filled with a sense of adventure. One not tempered by sea-sickness. 

Castiel’s grin broadened, and he leaned to kiss boldly against Dean’s cheek. ”I see I will be marrying a philosopher.”

“Don’t insult me.” They traded jostles and giggled like school children until a matronly woman cleared her throat primly as she walked by, eyes full of judgement. It only made their laughter that much grander.

Warm sun greeted them in Morocco, where they’d procured a modest but comfortable villa. Rich spices licked their senses as their carriage rolled down a market street, children scuttling to and fro, the distant sound of music layering over their laughter. 

Castiel hummed appreciatively, turning his eyes from the curtained window to look at Dean, color returning to his cheeks. “This is how I imagined it. Our beginning.”

Dean reached out, gently clasping his lover’s hand. ”As did I.”

**Author's Note:**

> My twitter : https://twitter.com/neonbat666?s=09
> 
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